


Red

by astromancer



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alcohol, Experimentation, F/F, Lipstick, Non-Consensual Kissing, One-Sided Attraction, The Winter Palace (Dragon Age)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-05-25 00:25:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6172699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astromancer/pseuds/astromancer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Warden and the Champion are invited to the Winter Palace for a joint-celebration of their feats, but while Hawke plays the role of honorary guest as best she can, Surana prefers to blend in with the shadows, drinking herself into a brazen stupor of lust and bad decisions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red

**Author's Note:**

> A little experimental piece with my Surana and Hawke.

Red. Why so red? Like fresh blood or the coals of a fire, earnestly burning despite the darkness that threatens to snuff them out.

It suits her.

If Hawke’s chipped-sapphire eyes (the same shade as the ruffly, puffed-up, disgustingly Orlesian dress that still manages to flatter her in all the right ways) had enticed Surana when she had first walked into the foyer, the Warden was now swimming in deep, deep red.

Red wine. Red lips. She wondered, would they taste the same?

They did, to her.

A dark sweetness, heady and strong, but pure, as if touched by the light of Andraste herself. She really did need to find a way to bottle it all up. She could get drunk off it until her tongue went numb. And even then, it would probably go down that much easier.

Over the course of the night, growing hazier and hazier as the hours, minutes, _seconds_ , pass, Surana learns some interesting facts about her target.

One: Hawke does not drink. She sips instead on cocktails so non-alcoholic they might as well have just been called fruit juice and given to children at a birthday party.

Two: Hawke is very loyal. Surana feels the shock when the Champion’s electric fingers grip her arms so tightly that she is black and blue, down to the very marrow of her bones. A warning. But when the familiar flavour of wine mingles with the not-so-familiar exotic tang of sugar, Surana no longer finds reason enough to care.

She is drowning.

…But she will not drag Hawke down with her.

Not this time.

Not with her storyteller waiting just out of the shadows, his voice so close as he mingles with the fancy parlour crowd that it rings in her pounding ears and she stops, breaking the seal of their lips and pushing Hawke out of the shadows, watching as the Champion, her eyes a wild blue, wipes the smudge of black from her pretty little lips, taking the rest of the red with her.

She reads a question on his lips, but Hawke laughs it off with a touch of delicate fingers—laced with gloves, not magic—on his broad forearm, and quickly finds herself in the nosy and prodding company of yet another circle of frilly dresses and fancy hats, eager to indulge in secrets never meant for their ears.

Surana remains in shadow, for it is where she dwells. Where she belongs.

Not Hawke. Hawke is a diamond, shining and unbreakable by none but herself, where she is but a lump of obsidian, black and chilling, negating the fires around her.

If, when she finally emerges from the darkness, her lips are more red than black, it’s not for anyone else to know. She can blame it on the wine.

And _oh, Maker,_ she does.


End file.
